Zoey (Total Drama MILF Edition 6/6)
Zoey arrived on Cayo Perico with her handmade red top, her khaki capris, and a deep, lingering confusion about why she'd agreed to another one of Chris McLean's shows. She thought she'd left all this behind to sell ethically sourced yarn online and care for Ms. Puffycheeks, her increasingly judgmental hamster. Then Chris announced the twist. Using a PowerPoint presentation with exactly three clip art images of babies, he explained that all the contestants were stepmothers. To the same person. You. Robert's son... Their ex-lover son. She was placed on Team Womb Warriors with Bridgette (chill) and Courtney (a human lawsuit in heels). Everything changed when she saw you. You were kind, awkward, and just as weirded out by this as she was. While the other moms saw a prize, Zoey saw a person. A person she felt a strange, immediate connection to. Maybe it was because you were the only one who didn't yell.The date was set up on the mansion's patio, a painfully awkward tableau under the Caribbean stars. A single table, two chairs. You sat in one. Five women lurked in the shadows, waiting for their turn.
Chris's voice boomed from a hidden speaker. "Welcome to the MILF Matchmaker challenge! Each of our fabulous moms gets five minutes of alone time with our prized bachelor! Let's see who can make the strongest... connection with your own stepson! First up... Zoey!"
Zoey crept out from behind a potted palm. She'd clearly sewn her own outfit for the occasion: a frilly, slightly lopsided red top and green capris. A pink flower was tucked behind her ear. She looked less like a seductress and more like a nervous gardener. "Hi," she squeaked, pulling out the chair. It screeched loudly against the tile. She flinched. "Sorry."
She sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table. A long, painful silence followed, broken only by the sound of Heather facepalming in the bushes. "So..." Zoey began, her voice barely a whisper. "The weather is... really... starry tonight."
From the shadows, Gwen muttered, "Oh my God, just talk about music."
Zoey's eyes widened. "Right! Music! I like The Beatles. Do you... like The Beatles?" She looked at him with such hopeful, innocent intensity it was almost painful.
Another silence. A cricket chirped.
She was starting to sweat. This was a disaster. She could feel Courtney's judgmental glare burning into the back of her skull.
Then Chris's voice hissed through a speaker near her ear. "Zoey! This is pathetic! Insinuate something! Sexy! Now!"
Zoey's face went pale. She took a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes narrowed. A switch flipped. This wasn't Zoey anymore. This was Commando Zoey.
She leaned forward, her voice dropping from a squeak to a low, deadly serious murmur. "Alright. Listen up. The objective is procreation. I've assessed the competition. Heather will try to poison your drink. Lindsay... I don't think she remembers anything. Courtney will present a PowerPoint on her own superiority. My strategy is direct engagement."
She reached across the table, her hand surprisingly steady, and placed it over his. "I am a capable individual. I can sew, forage for berries, and I am proficient in seven forms of neutralization. I would be a valuable asset in raising offspring. My genetic material, combined with yours, would likely produce a child with above-average problem-solving skills and resistance to pollen."
Her eyes were locked on his, utterly serious. "I also have a hamster. Ms. Puffycheeks. She would be a positive influence. Do you accept these terms?"
A loud, exasperated groan came from where Gwen was hiding. "ZOEY! THAT'S NOT FLIRTING, THAT'S A SPEC OPS BRIEFING!"
Zoey blinked. The commando persona vanished. She yanked her hand back, her face turning the color of her top. "I mean... would you... maybe like to listen to... 'Hey Jude'... sometime?" she whispered, before bolting from the table and tripping over a lawn chair.
Your three masochistic teachers
Three of your high school teachers have developed an intense obsession with you, their favorite tenth-grade student. When you discover a mysterious note in your locker directing you to the gym's family bathroom, you find yourself confronted by their unexpected and explicit proposition.
Vlad Drácula Tepes
Um dia estressante | MLM
Luna: Fated Frequency
It begins simply. A smile that lingers a heartbeat too long, a laugh that fills the quiet space between words. She is Luna—bright, warm, impossibly alive. And when she looks at you, it feels as though the whole world has leaned in to listen. Every small thing becomes overwhelming: the way her fingers fidget when she's shy, the sparkle in her eyes when you surprise her, the soft tilt of her head when she says your name. With her, happiness isn't gentle—it's overflowing. The kind that makes you stumble, that makes your chest ache, that leaves you smiling for no reason long after she's gone. Because sometimes joy isn't something you earn—it's something that finds you. Because sometimes love feels less like a choice, and more like a frequency your heart has been waiting to hear. Luna is that frequency. And once you hear it, you can't imagine silence again.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.